Black Blood
by sadge
Summary: Poor unsuspecting Andromeda was just enjoying her morning tea when the paper arrived, bringing with it many unresolved memories of Sirius Black. And that's just the beginning. She can't seem to escape him or that miserable family. Update 2-14
1. The Photo

And yet another first person narrative, Andromeda this time. No one is safe…

Disclaimer: Being that Andromeda never ever appears in the series other than a brief mention as Sirius' favorite cousin and another blood traitor, I pretty much created her. She is probably a conglomeration of all those ignored-bordering-on-original characters floating around out there in fandom. But right now she's _mine_.

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It feels so strange to be sitting here sipping tea while he just lies there staring back at me. I mean, it's like he's a bloody guest in my home or something, not a photograph off the morning Prophet.

I take another sip of tea and look away. It's been ages since I've thought of him, any of them. Ten, maybe twelve years. Whenever it was he was sent away. I'd seen his face in the paper then too, and it was at that moment I decided I would wash my hands of the entire family then and there. For the most part it worked.

He had shown such promise of turning out differently in his youth from his twisted family. I mean, who'd heard of a Dark Gryffindor? Well at least not then, not when he was sorted into the House. Thanks to dear Sirius, we have another first; Azkaban escapee and traitorous Gryffindor.

But that is all icing on the cake that is Sirius Black. My hated cousin and blood-loyalist.

Perhaps Nymphadora is right. I _do_ tend to get a bit overly dramatic. But I have my reasons so for this one time she'll just have to excuse me. Miss Tonks, as she is styling herself nowadays, will just have to accept that.

Another sip of tea and another stolen glance at the silently fuming figure. Sirius must've been in rare form that day; his glower is particularly vindictive. I suppose they must have taken it before he was too long in Azkaban, before the insanity could set in. It could even have been right after they'd caught him; right after he'd…

I turned the offensive copy of the Daily Prophet over so I didn't have to ponder him or any other Black anymore. At the earliest possible chance I had married Ted and gotten _out_ of that family. I did not need memories resurfacing over the morning news. The only picture I ever wanted to remember of the Blacks is their horrified faces twisted in anger at the very idea of their daughter – their _pureblood _daughter – marrying a common filthy Muggle. Oh yes, that one is _priceless_.

It seems the tea is done. Good. I did not want to pour over the news anyway, morning beverage in hand. I might actually be early for work today. There is a crash from some room in the house and I know that there is a chance I will still be late. Cleaning up after my accident-prone daughter is a time consuming project.

Idly, I wonder if she will read the paper today. Will she see Sirius' face on the front cover and wonder who he is? Will she remember seeing him before? I'm rather curious about it. Perhaps it's a morbid curiosity, wondering if my daughter will remember her murderer of a relative. We had been really close at the time, me and Sirius, and I had wanted my favorite cousin to see my wonderful daughter. He didn't _seem_ like a stinking traitor at the time. He was really different from the other Blacks…

Which of course brings me back to the family I love to hate, and who among their number could be more near and dear in my heart than my two sisters, Bellatrix and Narcissa. I must have wished them dead twenty times and hour. I know for a fact they thought the same of me - in fact they told me so on quite a regular basis. "Shrivel up, Andromeda." "Drown yourself in your beauty potions, Narcissa." Hogwarts was _such_ a welcome sight.

Here I go again, thinking about _them_. I laid them to rest ages ago but here they are, back from the dead. Wouldn't they be so pleased? Perhaps I should burn the paper. No, then Nymphadora would probably burn the house down and I'll never get to work. I'll just throw it in the trash on my way out.

Of course just as I pick it up to dispose of it, what should my darling daughter request but the morning issue of the Daily Prophet. Well ask and ye shall receive – or rather, be careful what you wish for…

I toss the paper to her and turn to leave. Regardless of my earlier curiosity, I found I didn't want to be there anymore. I didn't want to know if she remembered. There would be too many questions I had no desire to answer, now or at any date; questions I could not answer because there were no answers, questions that had lain dormant for many years. I did not want to face them.

Regardless of my wishes, the questions floated to the forefront of my mind. For example: Why did my headstrong, Dark-hating cousin – who was one of the best things to happen to the Black family in many generations – betray and kill his best friends? What did a blood-traitor burned from the ancient family tree have to gain by going back to his roots? Was there an answer to the enigma that is Sirius Black?

Fortunately, Miss Tonks was much to absorbed by the results of the latest Quidditch match to ponder front page news. Some Auror she would make. A Dark Wizard escapes Azkaban and she heads straight for sports.

"Well, I'm off," I say. "See you in a bit, dear."

A muffled "Bye, Mum!" is all I get. She has discovered the toast I left on the counter. As I walk out the door I hear the tinkling of broken china and I know I should have purchased the plastic dishware when my daughter asked to move back in.

I return later in the afternoon for lunch. Nymphadora is gone, presumably to London, as is the paper – thankfully. Just me and my sandwich, free from family reminiscing. Or the opposite of reminiscing, whatever that would be. Anti-reminiscing.

And yet for all my resolution to think about anything – _anything_ – but the Blacks, I seem obsessed. It is infuriating how single-minded I can be. And to top it all off, the blasted Prophet is still hanging around the house. Apparently it, too, will not leave me alone. Nymphadora seems to have only relocated it, disturbed it momentarily from its mission of causing me misery. It now resides in the hall, outside her bedroom. It lies there Sirius-side up and I hate it. I want to jump on it, tear it into little pieces, grind the scraps into particles and burn each one separately. Oh, Bella would be proud.

See!? There I go again! It won't let me forget them. The mere sight of it infuriates me; the sight of _him_ infuriates me! Why won't he leave me alone?! Why can't I forget him and move on?

But I know that I can't and I don't think I ever will because I still remember _my_ Sirius who hated his brother and cousins and pureblood, Muggle-hating family and would run away with me whenever he visited to play Muggle in a closet somewhere that our parents couldn't see and would tell me all about school and his friends and would laugh and laugh so happily when he talked about James and Remus and Peter and never had a Dark bone in his body and was the only Black I ever let hold Nymphadora because I knew he would not care her father was a Muggle-Born and so I guess I couldn't hate him because that man on the cover of the paper was _not_ him and could never be him as long as he looked at me like that.

I said it. Can't take it back now that I've said it. I've been avoiding the truth for a _very_ long time, but what's done is done. For all he's done I still can't bring myself to hate my cousin. _That_ Sirius Black, who stares at me with hate and venom in his eyes, that's a different person. Another Sirius Black who was always faithful to his family and hated Muggles from the day he was born and never shared secrets with his cousin Andromeda. _My_ Sirius could never do those things - he was too much a part of me. We shared too much for there to be this deep confusion that exists between us. We were blood traitors together, for ever and always. _That_ is my Sirius.

The man in paper just does not fill the place of that laughing boy I knew so well. He is a stranger and, honestly, I do not want to know him. There is only room for one Sirius in my life and I have always known the one I prefer.

I pick up the paper and this time I _do_ throw it out. I don't want to see that face anymore, I remember it quite well without the assistance the Daily Prophet. But the face I know smiles easily and laughs on a whim. I'm not so stupid to believe I can avoid the Blacks forever; they are as much a part of my life as Ted and Nymphadora. But I do not have to welcome them in with the morning paper. I have worked too hard to move on from that part of my past.

And tonight - tonight if Nymphadora asks why that Sirius Black looks so familiar or shares the same name I was born with, I will tell her the truth. He was my cousin. I will not tell her all the fun was had together as children or how I trusted him so deeply, because that is not the man on the front page. My Sirius is hiding somewhere, deep in the past.

I wish he could find his way out.

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Please review…I like reviews! No matter what they say or when you send them…please?


	2. The Confession

Well, enough people asked for it that I decided I would give it a shot. A second helping of Andromeda for all to enjoy.

Disclaimer: Do we really still have to do these anymore? I mean everyone knows Harry Potter was invented by aliens and that J. K. Rowling is just a creation of the FBI to cover up the extraterrestrial truth…

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Nymphadora has something to tell me. She's really working herself up over it, too. I can tell these things after a lifetime of dealing with her inane activities. There is a certain crease which appears in her forehead and I have noticed it to be the herald of all important news that comes from her mouth.

There was one time when she was much younger and she accidentally set her entire bedroom on fire, and in desperation called the Muggle fire squad. By the time I had arrived home she had somehow turned each one into a member of the canine species. The Ministry was _not_ happy about that one.

Then there was the night she informed me and Ted of her decision to become an Auror. I didn't take as well to that secret as I did to the previous. I know the already existing Dark Lord has been defeated but with families like mine in existence there is more than enough evil to go around. Did she really need to place herself right in the middle of it? And now that there are rumors flying about Voldemort…

But tonight is different. She has a secret and I have to figure out how to get her to spill. How much prodding will it take this time to get her to blurt it out? With the way she's acting, I really doubt it will take much.

"Nymphadora," I start. Might as well get it over with so we can get on with dinner peacefully. It's my job to pester her anyway. Just like my refusal to call her "Tonks" as she had asked me countless times to do. I enjoy the agitated look that comes over her face when I call her by her given name, especially in _public_. She squirms so wonderfully when I do.

"Mm?" She's fidgeting even worse now. It's so bad that she can't even open her mouth for fear the secret might just explode out of her. It must be really good. Definitely one to pursue.

"Is there something you want to share?" I am the picture of innocence. No use letting her know I can tell something is up. If there's one way to get her irritated it's to appear you already know what she's thinking.

"Nn." She shakes her head a bit, for further convincing. It doesn't work and I think she realizes that.

"Nothing?" Oh this will be good. Another shake of her head and I almost leave it at that, so she can stew a bit. But of course, as Nymphadora constantly reminds me, I meddle in other people's affairs more than I should, and I can't drop it just like that.

"Nothing? Nothing at all?" My voice has gotten high as I twist it to convey my compassionate concern for her well being. I sound rather like a mouse. Good thing Tonks the Fidgeter is as observant as a rock. This, more than being accident prone, has contributed to a great majority of her accidents.

She is about to give a final resolute "No" when she stops and her mouth abruptly springs open and a "Yes" pops out instead. I think we are both equally surprised, since I was certain it would take more than that to get her.

Ted slurps his soup, unaware of the little game I have been playing and the victory I have just scored. My mother would have cringed in horror to see his table manners. I love him so much at times like these.

"Well, you see…" She doesn't seem to know where to start. I nod gently to help her along. She clears her throat and says "Well" again. And then it explodes out of her mouth in a jumble of words.

"I know you hate talking about it but I thought you should know because it's really important and he's really sad and I thought you could cheer him up because Dumbledore won't let him out because everyone thinks he's guilty because they have no proof but he's really nice and he keeps asking for you and I know you're cousins and you hate to talk to your family but I thought he might be different because he keeps telling me about all these things you used to do when you two were little and all the fun you had and Dumbledore said it would be good for him to see some new people since he can't leave the headquarters and he's lonely – Sirius Black I mean not Dumbledore – and well" – she took the first breath of the whole sentence here – "I thought you could go see him."

Ted just stares at her, chewing slowly, face blank. I know he has no idea what she just said but he will pretend to anyway. I caught enough of that to nearly choke on a noodle in my soup. Honestly, the words "Sirius Black" out of my daughter's mouth are enough to give me a heart attack most days so that doesn't mean much. With what I just heard I should be dead and in my coffin right now.

"Excuse me?" I manage to cough out. "Repeat that again." Somehow I can't keep my voice from tightening up. That fake curiosity is gone now, replaced by a tense sort of desperation. This is not a time for games.

"Sirius – Sirius Black. I met him, Mum, and he's innocent." My heart is gripped by a mix of hope and excitement but I quickly beat it back. Instead I am angry – more angry than I understand. I almost feel like slapping her. How _dare_ she bring him up? How can she even _think_ of mentioning his name? She can see how upset I am getting and she regrets telling me. For some reason that makes me hate her more.

And then I catch myself. What am I doing? She doesn't mean it. She doesn't know what Sirius meant to me. I never _told_ her what Sirius meant to me.

In a quite voice she adds, "Dumbledore believes him," and I almost feel like crying. Ted still doesn't understand though he recognizes the name "Black" and probably recalls Sirius from when Nymphadora was born. He doesn't really care much for remembering my family, not that I blame him. _I_ don't care much for remembering my family.

"He wants to see you. He can't go out because he doesn't have the proof yet to convince the Ministry he's innocent. He asked if I would talk to you and try to convince you to visit." She was uncertain if I would get angry again. She really does mean well, and I guess she did the right thing by telling me, but it still stung to hear it from her. It would sting to hear it from _anyone_.

"I-I don't know." And I get up and leave the table. Ted gets up after me but I don't want to talk to him. I didn't tell him about Sirius either. I wanted to keep him separate from _that family_. I didn't want him to _ever_ really know about them. It got so that ages ago when we passed Bella in Diagon Alley and she tried to hex the both of us I only told him she was a Black. I couldn't tell him she was my _sister_. The less overlap between the two parts of my life the better.

I won't even mention the cold looks I get from Mrs. Malfoy on practically a daily basis. Sometimes I wish she had gone the same way as Bella so I wouldn't have to see her so often and could imagine her ugly face rotting in Azkaban. But she never had been as overtly violent as my other sister.

Ted's arms are around me and I want to shrug them off. I don't want his comfort, not now when I want to wallow a bit and think about that awful family. Ted _can't_ be there when I think about the Blacks and Sirius because Ted doesn't belong in that part of my life. Neither does Nymphadora but she's stuck herself right in it anyway.

"Mum?" I hear her voice from the dining room. "I'm sorry." She sounds like a little girl again, like she's broken another plate in the kitchen and has to confess what she's done. I can't be here anymore, not with them. I go outside and this time Ted knows enough not to follow.

I walk the dark streets looking in at the other families all finishing dinner. We – or rather, _I_ – chose a house in the Muggle part of England. Further distancing from the past. I suppose it was only a matter of time before it caught up with me. The newspaper of two years ago was a taste of just how fragile a glass castle I have built. It really was only waiting for the right moment to shatter…

I think I'll go home again. It's cold now that the sun is down and I'm not as upset as I was before. I really can't avoid the inevitable out here any more than in my own home. Perhaps I will be able to talk to Nymphadora now. I'll try at least.

She there to meet me at the door. She really is sorry for mentioning him and making me upset but she is right to tell me. I should know. For close to fourteen years now I haven't and it's eaten me up inside.

I nod to her and she tells me the rest in a subdued voice. "He's innocent. He didn't betray the Potters and he wasn't a Death Eater. He certainly doesn't seem like a murderer." I sort of laugh because she's echoing the thoughts that have run through my mind a thousand times before. Not that that really changed anything. He was still guilty no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise.

But Nymphadora says that he's not guilty and I feel hollow inside because I really don't know what to think anymore. "Dumbledore believes him so I guess that means its all true," she adds, and I turn my attention to the man I have rarely met and is the focus of so much of the news in the Daily Prophet recently. I get irritated at him, that it's been fourteen years and only _now_ he's bothering to take any interest in my cousin. He knew Sirius just as well as I did, if my cousin's tales of his Hogwarts days were anything to go by, and it never bothered him that the boy he knew would _never_ do what the man in the paper was accused of? Everyone knows Dumbledore holds some power over the ministry – Fudge certainly does and it's _killing_ him – but he couldn't be bothered to try to get my cousin a proper trial? What, he was busy every weekend for the past fourteen years? _Couldn't find the time_?

And there I go again getting angry with the wrong people again. It wasn't his fault and I should be glad he believes Sirius now. Everyone forgets that Dumbledore is not some Muggle superhero. There are limits to everyone.

"Where is he?" I ask. I guess I have decided that I _will_ go see him, regardless of the apprehension I am feeling.

"I-I can't tell you." Ah, Order business. I think Nymphadora believes she has successfully hidden her double identity as Tonks the Dark Lord Fighting Fiend from me but she forgets not everyone is as unobservant as she. Some things are more difficult to keep from your mother, no matter how well you hide them.

"I'll owl Dumbledore then," I say. She is smiling weakly now, relieved of this secret and the duty Sirius charged her with. I can see she is hopeful that it will work out. I feel the same way.

Isn't it funny how anxious this is making me? It's really childish of me, but I can't help it. All these years I couldn't bring myself to believe his guilt and then someone finally tells me he's innocent and I fall to pieces. It really is funny. Strange though how I'm not laughing.

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I'm pondering turning this into a longer story which follows the events of book 5 and the relationship between Sirius and Andromeda. I want to but the problem is that whenever I even think about doing that with something it ends up being abandoned. I mean there are lots of things I could still write about, like the _ending_ of OotP which would throw dear Andromeda for a loop I am certain.

I want to know what you think, my dear readers who have shown me that there is hope for stories about minor characters. Thanks a bunch, and Happy Prisoner of Azkaban Movie Day! :)


	3. The Ocean

Sorry for the break between updates. A bit of writer's block. Just couldn't get it started…But I did and here it is!

Disclaimer: Today was the last day of school. That means I am a simple little schoolgirl. That means I am not J. K. Rowling. That means I don't own Harry Potter. Ah well…We can dream, right?

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I hate going to the shore. Perhaps above all things on this earth, I hate our yearly trips to the shore. I believe Nymphadora takes a secret pleasure out of forcing me to take a day or so off work and spend the weekend near water – in the interest of family bonding, she assures me. Not that I hate _water_ precisely. I understand enough of Muggle science to know I am composed mainly of the liquid and therefore it would be silly to have such an aversion to the stuff.

But I still hate the shore.

I'm not sure exactly when or where this dislike of the ocean began, but there are plenty of times in my life to choose from. Quite a few begin back in my years as part of the Black family. Everyone in that family tried to drown me at least once – Bella at least fifty. Even Sirius couldn't resist dunking my head under and filling my lungs with that vile rubbish. He assured me it was purely in jest, but it did nothing to establish a loving relationship between me and the sea.

Luckily I escaped that family soon enough and the horrific trips to the ocean-side subsided. Sirius begged me to occasionally go with him, and in those early days I foolishly resigned myself to accompanying him to the shore. Then I met Ted – who fortunately lacked the perverse desire to drag me ceaselessly to places I hate – and I learned to say a loud and decisive "no." The unwanted trips came to a crashing halt. Sirius soon became otherwise occupied anyway – Order business – and couldn't spare the time to pester me. Somehow Miss Tonks still finds the time regardless of her participation in Dumbledore's little army.

Which brings me back to the reason I am here. Nymphadora, since the very day she was born, has had an overwhelming and, in my opinion, _sickening_ love for the ocean. Or rather she passionately enjoys everything which I don't. I say once again, she loves to force me into these excruciating situations. And to make it worse, my maternal instincts prevent me from abandoning her to the ocean's dangers. In fact, I tend to take it to the other extreme and constantly worry while my only child frolics in that which I consider _the enemy_.

I really, _really_ hate going to the shore.

It's no use telling Ted and hoping for sympathy from him. The one time I _did_ mention my past sea experiences to him he laughed at me for twenty minutes straight. Apparently Ted's early Muggle education had imparted to him the bit of information, which Hogwarts had not, that illuminated the hilarious irony of my name. My mother must be simply _dying_ to know what a cruel name she gifted me with at birth. Andromeda, chained to the rock in the midst of the ocean, sea serpent poised above her ready to strike. It must have been such a thrill for her to know she had been right in naming me after _that_ damsel in distress. Above all else my mother _loved_ to be right. She had a delighted sort of cackle with she saved specifically for this occasion.

I have never felt more like my namesake than at this moment with my daughter seated beside me on a beach towel. Especially since I have only just realized that Nymphadora's weekend outing has been nothing but an elaborate trap. And stupid me just walked into the serpent's jaws.

"When are you coming to see Sirius?" she asks. Out of no where, without any preamble or warning or even the least bit of small talk to work its slow way to the main point. I can't look startled, though; she'll sense weakness and go for the kill.

I sigh and remain outwardly calm. When will you learn, Nymphadora – I want to say – When will you learn that not every promise I make I intend to follow through with? Not everything I say can be taken as truth. So why should Sirius be any different? Why can't I say "yes" and mean "no" just one more time? I did it often enough with you.

Here, I think, would be the time to remind her of all those times she broke the rules and I swore she would not see the light of the outside world for at least a month but then Friday night rolls around and I'm shoving her out the door to watch a movie with her friends as long as she's back by nine o'clock even though I know I won't see her until some time around ten thirty.

Or maybe I'll _not_ mention that, just so she doesn't realize how much I let her walk all over me. Perhaps I'll hold on to that mental image of me as Mother, the Trustworthy Rule-Maker. Sure, it was never true but what mother _can_ claim that title?

But I _do_ want her to drop the Sirius mess. I said yes. Isn't that good enough for now? Let's just leave it at that for the moment and get back to our lives.

"Mum." She wants an answer and she's employing the standard Mother-technique to get it. Doesn't she realize I know _that_ approach quite well? After all, _I_ am the mother here. Not that you'd know it from how she's looking at me. There's a disapproving glower on her face, which I recognize from years of perfecting it with all of Nymphadora's escapades in her younger days. She has no right to use that face on me; no one _asked_ her to be so damn persistent about this. If it's causing her that much irritation she should just let it go.

"It's been two weeks." A non-committal grunt from me so she feels like I _am_ participating rather than grumbling about her under my breath, which _is_ what I am actually doing. "You said you'd come and you haven't. Don't you think that's a bit cruel to Sirius?"

Ouch. Way to go, Nymphadora. Kick me where it hurts.

"I know, I know, but I've been so busy" – liar – "and there's so much to do at home" – like watch the neighbors through the kitchen window – "and I simply haven't had the time" – or the desire. "Maybe when things cool down at work" – it's already ice – "I can see Sirius." Or then again, maybe not.

I have the suspicion Nymphadora knows exactly what I am thinking. She's giving me a rather nasty glare; eyes narrowed, nose turned up, lips pursed. I realize with a start that I know that disapproving look from somewhere. From my own dear family. Hell, it's all I get from Narcissa nowadays.

I really don't want to see that on my daughter's face, not after how hard I have worked to get her _away_ from that family, and so I turn away. She probably thinks it's guilt that's compelling me to cast down my eyes, but it's not. She doesn't know just how much I hate to remember them.

"You don't have the time you say?" Her voice is wavering with what sounds surprisingly like anger. I really don't expect that, not from this child of mine, and it jostles me. Whiny displeasure, perhaps. Full blown rage, no. "Well then. Let's go, right now." Her jaw is clenched and she's losing her temper with me. I'm not sure why. I haven't done anything yet to earn such a reaction. So I don't want to see Sirius, it's not that awful. It certainly doesn't merit _this_ treatment.

She stands up and when I don't follow she turns sharply to me. "What, Mum, I thought you hated the ocean. Aren't you glad I want to leave? Isn't this what you want?" The words are harsh and biting as she spits them out. I realize that she is not really my little girl anymore. The daughter I knew never had the nerve to say such things to my face. My little girl would never have had the will to do this.

A part of me is proud of her. That's not to say I still would not prefer to drop the topic of Sirius and run far, far away, but all the same, somehow she's become an amazingly determined and willful young woman. I don't know why I didn't really notice it before.

"I don't want to go. This is our time together. You're the one who decided we'd come here, isn't it what _you_ want?" Still glossing over the real issues her, aren't we, Andromeda?

"No, Mum. It isn't. What I want is for you to go see Sirius."

"Well I don't want to."

She looks a bit shocked to hear me come out and say it. _I'm _a bit astonished I actually said it.

"Why? Why don't you want to?" Her voice is soft now. She's realized she's touched a nerve and prodding it the way she was before might not be the way to go about it.

I don't want to answer and so I press my lips tighter together.

She presses on. "Mum?" No answer. "Mum." She's getting irritated again. "Why won't you just tell me?" Silence. "Just tell me already! I'm sick of all this secrecy and silence. Why don't you ever talk about Sirius? Why don't you ever talk about your family?"

"_You_ are my family - " I start, but she cuts me off.

"Don't give me that! Don't you _dare_ give me that. There's more to this family than you and Dad and me. There's Sirius, and there's the Blacks, and there's my aunts and my cousin, and there's an entire life before you ever knew me or Dad. So don't lie to me and tell me there's nothing because I know there is."

I don't know what to say to that. I really did not expect it. Not now, not ever. I thought my daughter would be _happy_ that I kept such blights on humanity as the Blacks from her. I thought I was doing her a _favor_. And here she is yelling – _yelling_ – at me for precisely that reason.

And so I take a deep breath and I open my mouth, unsure of what will follow. But I do know one thing, I can't stay silent anymore.

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Hmm…My computer says that's the same length as all the other ones but it feels so much shorter. I didn't mean for it to end right there but it just happened and who am I to argue with those things that "just happen"? They are much to far beyond me.

In case anyone is confused, these are just snapshots of Andromeda's life taken from different points in time. The first one was at the beginning of book three, the second one at the beginning of five, and this one two weeks later. The next one will probably be right after this. And from there who can say. I start a chapter without any idea of what's going to happen other than a basic idea which is still prone to changes. It's as much of a surprise to you as to me.

And the myth concerning Andromeda's name…I actually didn't intend for that to work its way in here when I started writing about water. It sorta just…happened…kinda like I said before. Basically the Hero Perseus finds Andromeda chained to a rock about to be eaten by a nasty monster and kills it, thus saving her and, of course, getting her hand in marriage. Lucky duck, huh? If you want to know the specifics of it, like how Perseus had something to do with the Chimera, the Pegasus, Medusa, and other fun things, just look it up. What?!? Do I have to do _everything_ for you?!?

And thanks SO VERY MUCH to everyone who reviewed…You guys made my day(s)!!! Keep it up!!!


	4. The Past

So...after a REALLY long time, here it is. The next chapter. Andromeda spills all. Sorry for the wait. So, since I've been typing all afternoon for this, this little intro bit won't be long. Enjoy the chapter.

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Sometimes…sometimes I really hate my name.

Sometimes I just wake up in the morning and think about the day to come and how I have to face the world as Andromeda Tonks and it makes me sick, physically sick. It just all gets to be to much. I think if I have to live one more day as a _Tonks_ I might shoot myself. And its not because of your father, you know I love him just as much as the day we got married if not more so, it's just…

I don't know…I can't explain the feeling if you aren't one of the unlucky ones who are living every day of their lives as a lie. Not that I'd want you to understand me if that was the price to pay; I'd rather you were oblivious. I'm sure you'd want to be oblivious too, not that you'd really know the difference because you'd be oblivious, obviously.

Look, now I'm just going on about nothing and I can't remember what I was talking about. You probably think that I'm trying to get off the topic of Sirius here, but I'm not. There's a point here…if I could only remember what it was.

Well never mind. It'll come back to me later. You wanted to hear about my family – _your_ family – so here it is.

I guess you know by now that I was born Andromeda Black, part of the illustrious pure-blood family that can trace its roots back even to the most ancient of all wizards. Don't bother wondering what "most ancient of all wizards" those were; they never gave me a straight answer when I asked. The Blacks were in truth probably some new money family that cropped up during the Roman Empire. That's as far back as the records ever went.

When I was born, my parents were only slightly disappointed. As with most pureblood families, they hoped for a male heir to the estate who could carry on the family name and so forth. They had failed with Bella and now they had failed again with me. I guess it was for the best; at least they didn't suffer any terrible letdowns with the rest of my life.

Who's Bella you say? You haven't heard of _Bella_? Well there's a surprise. _Everyone's_ heard of Bella. She was always the charismatic one, the Black's firstborn, charming daughter, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Oh – _now_ you've heard of her. I thought so. What Auror doesn't know about the Lestranges. I am sorry to say that that woman who now rots in her jail cell was once my older sister. I wonder about her from time to time, if she's as cold and pale as she always was. I wonder if her jet black hair is still glossy and silky smooth or if its gone dull and gray and ratty.

I hated her.

She was always older than me, always rubbing in my face that my parents preferred her to me. All the boys preferred her as well. It's really no mystery; she was beautiful in a cold and painful sort of way. She was the _essence _of what is was to be a Black and she held those awestruck boys in an iron fist.

Bella was only two years my senior and for a while it was just us. We played together – or more accurately she bullied and I obeyed. We shared a bedroom and a nanny. I never was free from her and never once did my parents step in to give me any peace. She was a constant black cloud over my life.

When I was five, Narcissa was born. She was even more beautiful than Bella and she could see it. Bella hated Narcissa and took every opportunity to get rid of her. Either my parents didn't notice or didn't care. They always took the same approach with all of Bella's "antics."

It was finally me, now nearly six, who cared enough about my little sister to stand up to Bella when she tried to do her off. We were always fighting and getting in trouble and eventually my parents thought it best to separate us into our own rooms. The house had enough spares to shelter an army – it was a manor estate after all, why were we shoved together and left to suffer each other's company?

Time passed and Narcissa grew up, each day more beautiful than before. She was blonde and tiny, like a china doll. I certainly thought the resemblance was close enough to treat her as one. I dressed her up in all sorts of gowns. She was another one my parents seemed to favor and her wardrobe showed it, stuffed with bright colors and expensive fabrics. They had given me the bare minimum of dress robes to wear out to their fancy dinner parties. My closet looked nothing like Narcissa's and it hurt me a little to see her so indulged while I was left out in the cold.

Three painful years passed before Bella was finally out of the house. Hogwarts was a great and magnificent thing. Sure, she was back at holidays, but for the rest of the year, one pressure had been lifted from my life. All I had left to face were my uncaring parents and my _dear_ little sister.

And then I met Sirius. It was a Sunday afternoon and my aunt and uncle were over for tea. I had escaped the parlor, although I knew in about five minutes my mother would come into the kitchen to drag me back to polite society because, after all nine was old enough to start learning to be a lady, and why couldn't I just behave myself rather than running off all the time and hiding in the attic, if I wanted to be a house elf she would take all the nice clothes I owned away and she would be happy to let me cook and clean and play servant, as long as I understood I would find no sympathy from her when I came crying looking for my old place in the house back, and on and on and on…

And that's when I saw him sitting there, legs dangling over the edge of his chair, playing with a puddle of water he had spilled on the table top. I can't describe how strange I felt watching him. It…It was as though I had already known him, and I was just waiting for him to show up.

He was the first Black I had ever met who I did not hate, not even in the deep reserves of my heart. He was just…different.

After that, we were inseparable. Anytime there was a family gathering, all the parents would pile their spoilt brats in one room together and leave us there to amuse ourselves – kill each other off I always thought – but not me and Sirius. We were gone, off somewhere playing Muggle or looking for secret rooms. So what if I was ten now? If Sirius wanted to search for lost treasure, we searched for lost treasure. If Sirius wanted to pretend we were trapped in a labyrinth and a monster was going to eat us if we couldn't find the way out and we had only a single loaf of bread between us and we had been wandering for a week, so be it. He was my only ally against _them_.

Two more years passed much too swiftly and then I, too, was gone, off to school like Bella. The thought of sharing a building with her again did not appeal to me, and I could only hope Hogwarts was big enough to hide from her in.

It was. And if that wasn't enough, I wasn't even in her house. I'm not sure the Sorting Hat really had any idea what house would be good for me; there were some choices that definitely were _not_ for me. I was not cunning, for all my pureblood status; I was not outrageously loyal; I did not show promise of an overabundance of courage. So my only choice seemed to be Ravenclaw and I went, not really caring where I had ended up, but rather where I had escaped. I was not in Slytherin. _I was not in Slytherin_.

I…

I think I've given you the wrong impression. I'm not sure I really want to correct you but I guess I must.

Up until this point, I've told you this story as though I am the innocent victim here; as though I have done no wrong. I've led you to believe that _they_ were the Blacks and _I_ have always been Andromeda Tonks. I'm sorry. I suppose you wanted to hear the whole story when you asked so I'll tell the rest, even though I want to forget so many things out of my Hogwarts years. I really am as Black as the rest of them. I really am a Black as much as I try to deny it and push them away.

I…I was a horrible person those early years in Hogwarts. I was free from my family, I thought. I was finally free from them. But they were still there, still whispering in my brain, and I did things I am not proud of. I bullied people in the hall, I looked down on them because they were in other houses, I made cruel jokes at their expense because they were _obviously_ not as intelligent as I was. And do you know _why_? It was because I was so _free_. There was no Bella to detest, there was no Narcissa to envy, there were no parents to despise for their apathetic behavior. There were all these feelings in me that I had become so used to at home, and here at Hogwarts I had no outlet for them other than my fellow students. Bella paid me no attention, Narcissa would not be coming along for another five years, and the closest things I had to parents couldn't even be bothered saying hello to me when I returned for the holidays.

I only realized what I had become in my fourth year. Bella stopped me in the hall and spoke to me, the first time within the Hogwarts walls, and what she said made me sick. I was in the hospital wing for a week, staring blankly at the ceiling over two little words.

Nice job.

Nice job.

I had become the person I most hated. I had become Bella.

Eventually Madame Pomphrey kicked me out, claiming that there was nothing wrong with me. Couldn't she see? There was _a lot_ wrong with me. I was a disgusting and vile creature and I hated myself. I didn't want to study anymore. I didn't want to be at school. I didn't want to do anything. And the really sad part was that no one cared. I had not made a single friend in four years and so I faded into the background unnoticed.

Except, one person _did_ notice. A Hufflepuff of all people. I had picked on him mercilessly, calling him fat, stupid, a slob, a pig, and every variation thereof. Once - _once_ - it had even slipped out before I could catch myself. Once, I had called him Mudblood.

And yet…and yet he noticed when I stopped. He noticed when I shut up completely. Not even that but he _cared_. He talked to me when I sat alone in the library. He moved next to me in class. He walked with me in the halls. And slowly I started talking back. I started smiling and laughing. He was the first friend I had ever had.

I didn't need to hate anyone anymore. I actually had a friend.

The summer of fifth year I tried to write to him, but my parents had devised a plan to turn me into a proper lady that involved every second of my time. It was the first time they had paid attention to me, and as it turns out, I really wish they hadn't. I was much more content as part of the background. I got all the fancy dresses I could have wanted, and all the jewelry and the makeup to go with it. All I wanted in the end was to be back at school with my one friend. It was the only place I could escape their effect on my life.

Fifth year was the first entirely good year I had ever had. From the moment I stepped onto the Hogwarts Express and saw someone waiting for me, who had saved me a seat next to him, to the end of the school year when I hugged him goodbye and was smiling all the way back to the manor. But despite all we had shared that year I hadn't told him about my family, I hadn't told him about my sister, and I certainly hadn't told him why I had called him all those stupid names. You know, to this day I _still_ haven't told him. I guess it's one of my faults, not sharing. I never went to nursery school and I certainly would not have learned it from my home life. I guess I should thank you for yelling at me enough to incite this sort of a reaction. It's the first time I've shared with _anybody._

Narcissa came to Hogwarts that year. I had realized long ago that she was not the little china doll I had thought. She was just as bad as Bella but she looked so sweet and gentle that you couldn't believe it possible of her. I think her spell was broken for me the day I met Sirius. He was everything I had wanted in her, but with none of the twisted lies. I looked after Sirius, made sure he was fitting in, acted as his older sister.

Narcissa I left to the wolves.

At Christmas break Bella and Narcissa didn't even talk to me. The house was silent except for the coming and goings of the house elves. I realized I didn't belong there anymore. My parents had given up on me, my sisters had disowned me, the house held no reason for me to return to it. It wasn't home anymore.

So when Easter break came around, I stayed at Hogwarts. Sirius, as it turns out, stayed as well and stirred up a great deal of mischief with his new band of friends. Nothing big mind you, he was still new at the game. Just some itching powder and misplaced socks. But it was a start of something bigger and I kind of missed when it had been just the two of us against _them_.

Seventh year brought some surprises. Everyone had forgotten by now what a horrible person I had been three years ago and started to buddy up to me. They weren't ready to name me Queen of Hogwarts or anything, but they were talking to me. Simple stuff like, "What's the homework?" or "Going to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

And then my one friend became my _boy_friend and we were going to balls together and Hogsmeade together and holding hands in the halls together. It was strange, and kinda nice, and I didn't leave Hogwarts once to go back to the Black Manor. They were out of my life.

I graduated and stayed at my boyfriend's house right after school. I caught the bus to my old house and knocked on the door. My mother opened it, looked at me, and walked away. The door stayed open but she could care less whether I came or went. So I went. I did not return for another year and a half, and this time it was only to tell them that I was getting married. I wanted them to care, to get angry even, just to show that I was not so easily written out of their lives. Just so I could know I was not that easily tossed aside.

The effort nearly killed me.

They got angry, to say the least. I told them he was a Muggle-born. I told them we lived in a Muggle house, that we ate food we cooked the Muggle way. I told them we were having a regular, Muggle wedding. Actually I screamed it at them. I screamed it at them through the heavy wooden door they had slammed in my face. And then they opened it and pushed me down the steps, kicking me along the way. When I got to the bottom, the pulled out their wands and hexed me and even little Narcissa – fourteen years old – even _she_ kicked me and spit on me and yelled curses at me in her sweet, angelic voice. And then they left me, and I dragged my broken self home.

A year later you were born. Nothing could ruin how happy I was. Not passing Bella in Diagon Ally, not seeing Narcissa being fitted for dresses at Madame Malkins. Nothing. They were part of the past, and they have stayed there for the most part.

Sirius was the first wrench in the system. He betrayed the Potters and for me everything was turned on its head. I know that _I_ had strayed at Hogwarts, _I_ had followed a bad path, but Sirius had friends. Sirius was different. I had trusted Sirius and we were blood traitors together. I had known him his entire life and yet I did not see this coming. How could I miss something like that? And maybe I didn't. If you're right – if Dumbledore is right – then maybe I didn't.

And Bella. What can I say for Bella? I still hate her. I hate what she's become even more than I hate what she was, and she really was _awful_ then. She deserves the cell she's in. They all should be there, all the Blacks. They are not so different from one another. If they could have, they all would have taken Bella's place that night she attacked the Longbottoms.

But do you know what I hate most about them?

I hate that I should be in there with them. I hate that I am one of them and that even now I can't escape them. They are in my blood, they are whispering always in my mind. For twelve years I shoved them aside; for twelve years I could ignore that I was one of them, that I was not Andromeda Tonks from the start. When I woke up I could push down the side of me that was Andromeda Black, shove it under a rug somewhere, but it was still part of me.

So you see, Nymphadora? You see why I didn't want to tell you about them? They are not people you want to know. There is no redeeming factors about them. They are cold and heartless, they are vile and abhorrent. But you wanted to know.

Are you happy that you know now? I'm a Black. You're a Black, too.

Are you happy?

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Hope you liked it. It took me approximately four drafts to express what I wanted. It still isn't exactly right. But it's close enough and I'm pretty happy with it.

And the "o" thing...I've got no other alternatives!!! The stupid Quick-edit has eaten ALL of my separation techniques!!! We hatessss it preciousssss...Ahem. Sorry.

Please leave a message for me...Didja like it, hate it, worth the wait, not worth the wait, did I spell something wrong...?

Just so I know there's still people out there...


	5. The Calm

Well, it's only been a week or so…It's a pretty good update for me. I'm proud of myself, even if you lot aren't. So anyway, this is NOT the episode I'm sure a lot of you were hoping for and that I have been building towards for a while now (ok the entire time). This is a sorta "wind-down" chapter, something to go between Andromeda Explains It All and The Showdown. So that means Sirius is next. Keep that in mind and remember: I like reviews; the more reviews I get, the happier I am; the happier I am, the more likely I am to write; the more likely I am to write, the sooner you get your chapter; the sooner you get your chapter the happier you are. You see how we all need each other to review? Good, I knew you were a smart bunch.

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We haven't talked yet. It's been three hours and fifty-one minutes and we haven't said one word to each other. We silently went to the car and silently drove home and silently, _oh so silently_, stared out the window as the road went by.

She didn't ask me to turn on the air conditioning. I didn't ask her to turn on the radio. It was as though neither of us noticed there was another person there with us.

When we got home, I went into the kitchen and sat down. She went up to her bedroom. I didn't hear the customary tinkling of broken vases or glassware. Everything was silent.

I decide to start dinner since it's already five o'clock and Ted will be home soon. He couldn't make it on our trip to the sea, but Nymphadora had insisted that the two of us went regardless. I see now it was all a ploy to get me alone and back me into a corner. I don't like having an Auror for a daughter. They're too good at this strategy stuff.

Five minutes later, Nymphadora comes running down the stairs and jumps into the fireplace. Order Business. Better cook for two tonight. She usually eats with the Order when she goes out this close to meals. Not that I can blame her for trying to escape my cooking. I really only started learning the culinary art right before she was born, since Ted was too busy with work and couldn't take over for me anymore. I joke about how she nearly burned the house down once, but I fail to mention how I actually did. Well not _completely_ burned. More like took out a wall and destroyed my favorite pot holder. After that, Ted enrolled me in a cooking class, and while I was not the star pupil, I _did _learn not to be a menace in the kitchen. Nymphadora still avoids my cooking whenever she can.

The door opens and Ted is home. He hangs up his coat and walks into the kitchen.

"Hi, honey," he says.

"Hi," I say. I haven't spoken in a while so my voice is croaky and rough. "How was work?"

"Eh, same. How was the beach?"

"Hmm, the weather was nice. But you know what I think of the beach."

He laughs and I feel better. He always makes me feel better.

"Is Nymphadora home?"

"No, she's out. Probably won't be back till late tonight." He nods, quite aware of what I'm saying – or rather, what I'm _not_ saying.

"Well. I'll just go change." He kisses me cheek and heads up the stairs. I pull out a cutting board and start cutting carrots. Maybe we'll have chicken.

There is a calendar sitting on the refrigerator. It is opened to the month of July. I see a big empty space on tomorrow's date and I briefly think about visiting Sirius. Then I open the door and take out the chicken and put my relations from my mind. No more Blacks today, thank you very much.

Ted comes down the stairs. I think about that I said to my daughter today, how I still haven't told Ted about…well, about everything. Sure he asked questions after I came home bleeding and bruised from my encounter with my mother and sisters, but I never gave him suitable answers, and he was kind enough never to press me for the truth. Perhaps it's time that I let him know. Maybe, _just_ maybe, after twenty four or so years he has earned the right to know.

But not tonight. Tonight, we will eat dinner and read the Prophet and go to bed and tomorrow I will wake up and –

What will I do tomorrow? _Will_ I go see Sirius? Or will I sit around and avoid him? _Will_ I tell Ted what he has waited so patiently for me to tell him? Or will I lose my nerve and clam up?

What am I so _damned_ afraid of? Ted doesn't care who my family is. They aren't a part of my life anymore. And Sirius…Well I know what I'm afraid of in Sirius. I'm afraid that he's not the little boy I knew. That he really has gone the way of all the Blacks and he's left me alone to face _them_ by myself. I'm afraid that he's not my Sirius anymore.

Ted is staring at me. I think he might have asked me a question. I wasn't paying attention. "Hmm?"

"I said, what did you do all day at the beach? I _know_ you didn't go in the water."

"We talked. Nymphadora went swimming just to annoy me. She wore that bathing suit she _knows_ I hate and kept running around to get all the boys' attention. But don't bother asking _her_ since she'll just deny it anyway."

Ted is smiling at me, trying very hard to take me seriously but failing.

"Shut up," I tell him, and he bursts out laughing. "If you keep laughing at me, you won't get any food. You can beg for scraps from the neighbors." He laughs even harder, choking on air.

I think I will be cooking for _one_ tonight.

And then I join him in laughing, and the memories from earlier today are gone. For a brief moment, it's just me and him. It's how it should have been, before the _Daily Prophet_ arrived two years ago. Before I was reminded that this wasn't _really _what my life was like.

Ted helps me with the dinner. I guess he'll be allowed to eat after all. It's six o'clock and I wonder what Nymphadora is doing know. Is she telling Sirius all about how I don't want to see him? Is she eating dinner with all those other doomed souls? Is she lying somewhere hurt – dead even? I guess I won't know for a while yet. She usually isn't home until eleven when she leaves so late in the day. I didn't even say good-bye as she ran out. I wish I had.

Ted compliments me on the chicken. He's just being nice so I keep my hopes up and don't resort to takeaway for the rest of our lives. I don't know what he's complaining about. He never cleans the dishes anyway so it wouldn't be that big of a difference. I personally think Chinese would be an _improvement_ to what I cook.

"Ted, are you busy tomorrow night?"

"Why, you asking me out on a _date_?" Oh, he thinks he's _really_ funny.

"A date with _you_? God, no!"

"Well as a matter of fact, I _am_ busy. I have a union meeting after work, and you know how those go on for_ever._ I'll be lucky if I'm back in time for breakfast." He forks another mouthful of chicken into his mouth. "Why?"

"Curiosity," I say. "Just wondering."

"You're not having a date _without_ me, are you? That's just mean. Let me in on some of the action."

"Sorry, Ted. You get stuck staying after school, and the party goes on without you. Maybe next time."

He just eats a carrot and pulls a face.

And then, unexpectedly, I start thinking about Sirius again. _Ted won't be home tomorrow for dinner. You don't have to be here. A perfect time to go see Sirius. _I tell myself to shut up and take my plate to the sink. But the words follow me. _Tomorrow…tomorrow_.

"Will you be eating at work then?" I call to him from the kitchen. Stupid, _stupid_, I tell myself. Why am I even wondering?

"I guess. Some of the guys and me will probably grab a sandwich or something. Who knows? I certainly won't be back in time to eat with you, so don't bother waiting."

"Don't worry about that; I don't plan on waiting around for _you_. Who do you think you are? The Minister of Magic himself?"

I reach into the freezer looking for some ice cream. Hmm, all we've got is a little bit of freezer-burned vanilla. I guess not even Nymphadora would touch that one, and let me tell you, she has an appetite on her that would astound you for her size. I scoop it out into two bowls and notice the little ice crystals that have formed all over it. I taste a bit and immediately toss it into the rubbish bin. I pull out some biscuits instead. Ted won't know the difference.

I put the plate of biscuits on the table and, as I expected, Ted doesn't even look to see what he's putting in his mouth. He's too busy staring off elsewhere, daydreaming or whatever he does when he gets all glassy eyed and non-responsive. I leave him to it and take a bite out of my own biscuit. Hmm…they're going a bit stale. I guess that's why these are still around as well.

"Tomorrow," I start, and Ted slowly turns and focuses on my face. "Hmm?" he asks dumbly, and I wonder again where it is his brain goes when he's staring off into space.

"I - I won't be here for dinner anyway." Oh God, what am I saying?! But I can't pause though or I'll never get it out. Just say it; just say it and stop deliberating. "I'm going to visit an old friend and I might not be back for dinner anyway."

"That sounds nice. Who is it? That lady from the Ministry again? What was her name – Lisa, Liza, Lizzy? I thought that was later in the week, though."

"No, _Elise_ Migion and I are having lunch next Saturday. Tomorrow I'm just going out to see an old friend of the family. It's just been a while and I thought I'd drop in and say hello, maybe cheer him up a bit."

Ted didn't miss the "family" part of that statement. He gave me a look that said, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" and left it at that. He may not know _exactly_ who my family consists of, but he certainly knows what my family is like. Family friends are not much better than family itself in his book. But, thankfully, he also knows that I will do what I want if I'm bent on doing it.

And as for me being certain if I know what I'm doing, I can't very well tell him "No, actually, I am rather conflicted about this and would like _ever so much_ to just ignore his existence and continue on with daily life, but I've got my own daughter pulling a guilt trip on me every time she gets me alone and my conscience beating the hell out of me when she finally gets off my back. So really, I couldn't be any less certain about anything." If I told him that, he'd look me straight in the eyes and tell me I'm overreacting, which I _know_ that I am so he _really_ doesn't need to remind me of that fact, and that I should just go and stop letting it take control of my life. Sometimes he just doesn't understand.

Sometimes he doesn't need to understand. Sometimes he's just too smart for me. I think this may be one of those times. I _am_ overreacting and I _am_ letting it control my life.

And of course now I already said I was visiting. It's out there floating around in our conversation and I can't take it back. I'll just have to go through with it.

"Stop looking at me like that," I tell him instead. "I know what I'm doing." Yeah, right. "You go have a _thrilling_ time at that meeting tomorrow. Don't wake me up if you get back late from a night out with the boys."

"It's not a night out with the boys," he tells me, whining, and I know the mood has been broken. "I said we'd be getting a sandwich or something! How did that translate to a night on the town?!" I pat his arm and leave the table, and though I can't see him, I know he's rolling his eyes behind my back.

Suddenly, I turn back and kiss him. I don't think I kiss him enough. I really should make a habit out of it.

"What was that for?" he asks, smiling at me.

"I don't know, for some strange reason I love you." He's still smiling and he's looking slightly stupid. I kiss him again. "Even with that silly look on your face, I still love you."

Thanks for everything, Ted.

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And on that note, thanks a bunch to you guys too. Thanks for taking the time to give this story a chance and making it this far. Hoping things continue as they are, we still have a great future together.

And as always, I love it when you tell me I'm wrong about something. That means I can fix it and make things better. Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated


	6. The Storm

Well, well, well....Here it is. The product of my first English class and end-of-summer doldrums...Procrastination at its finest, I tell you. But, finally I bring forth the long awaited chapter...

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I press gently on the heavy wooden door and it creaks slowly open. I recognize this door; it's almost identical to the one my mother slammed in my face all those years ago. It seems the bond between the Blacks runs deeper than just bigotry and discrimination; it extends to home décor as well.

Inside the entrance hall a man greets me – if that's what his behaviour could be considered. He hobbles over on a wooden peg leg and stares me up and down, scrutinizing every detail about my appearance. My daughter intervenes on my behalf before I become overwhelmed by the indignity of the situation. He is still peering at me even though Nymphadora has stepped between us.

"Moody, leave off her. It just my mum. _I_ may think she's a Dark Lord, but that doesn't mean the rest of Europe shares my opinion." She steers me away, still remaining between this Moody character and myself. Wise move, Auror Tonks.

Moody…It sounds familiar. Moody the Auror. _Mad-Eye_ Moody the Auror. He was the one who brought my sister in. _Well_, that changes things then. I should go right up to him and shake his hand, though I doubt he'd appreciate it. I somehow think anything more than a wave hello is beyond his idea of "acceptable."

Nymphadora continues to march me along. We pass the kitchen where another man wearily smiles and waves. She whispers "Remus Lupin" to me as we move away. That name seems familiar too.

I notice the elephant foot umbrella stand on my left, though I can't _possibly_ imagine what it is doing in the middle of the living room. I remember when my aunt bought that. Her house smelled of rotting flesh for weeks, though I don't think my aunt ever noticed the awful odor. It doesn't smell like anything now. Just doxyballs and dust.

I guess thirteen years can change anything, even hell.

She leads me up the stairs, past dusty mounted house elves and vacant disheveled bedrooms. Half empty boxes line the corridor. This place hasn't been lived in for years, not since my aunt died about nine years ago. I learned that from the _Daily Prophet_ too, like everything else I find out about the Blacks these days.

She stops outside one of the doors. It is the only one around here that is actually shut, so she knocks on it lightly. There is no answer so she tries again, louder and a little more forceful. "Sirius?" she calls. "It's Tonks. Are you there?"

I snort a little when she calls herself "Tonks." I still find it so juvenile. She'll grow into her name eventually.

There is a small rustling noise but no response to her call. She raises her fist to knock again but I step in between her and the door. This won't get her anywhere. If there's someone who can deal with Sirius, it's me.

"Sirius, open the door." Another shifting noise. "Get up, Sirius." Silence. "It took a lot to get me here today. I'm not coming again." Pause. "Goodbye, Sirius." I don't move, but my threat has had the desired effect. I hear heavy footfalls and the door is suddenly yanked open. We stare at each other for a moment, his pale blue eyes not even seeing me.

"Hullo, Sirius," I say. He is still silent. I think he is remembering, or perhaps forgetting – forgetting twenty years or so, back to when we were home from Hogwarts for the holidays. Bella and Narcissa are sitting downstairs little proper little girls, but I'm having none of that, which is just as well 'cause they don't want me anyway. Here I am at Sirius' door, waiting for him to let me in, because this is the part of Christmas break that I look forward to most, as does he, though I bet he really wishes he was at Hogwarts with Potter and the rest. But then the years catch up with him and he starts to notice all the gray hairs Nymphadora has given me and the creases around my eyes that are forming. I'm not sixteen anymore, and he's not twelve. Time has caught up with him too, I can see. His hair is long and overgrown, though it must have been cut at some point since he escaped. Dark circles look like they have taken up permanent residence under his eyes. His shoulders are bowed, whether as defense against the world or bent from the weight of Azkaban I cannot tell.

It's as I feared. He has changed.

"Hullo, Andromeda," he finally says. Then there is a silence. Nymphadora fidgets.

"I think I'll go see how Remus is doing with the dishes," she says as she slinks away. She is trying so hard to be quiet and unobtrusive but as usual, she trips and falls, landing on a musty box and tearing a hole in a portrait on the way down.

"Oh," she says, looking at her handiwork. "Sorry, Sirius. Hope it wasn't someone you actually liked around here."

Sirius laughs a little, but not because it's funny; just because he's supposed to. "I think you'd have a hard time of finding someone like that around here." His eyes roam back to me and then he seems confused. He can't remember if I am a real flesh and blood person or a painting and he opens his mouth to correct himself to Nymphadora, but she is already hurrying down the hallway, trying to escape the mess she's made as quickly as possible. I'm not sure if it's the broken portrait or the two people standing in the doorway she's running away from more. I can't tell which one's more messed up at the moment, though I think only the portrait is _really_ her fault.

Sirius seems to give up, leaning against the door jam and rubbing his face with his hands. "Sirius," I say. He looks up and his face is so tired, so unbelievably _tired_. I thought I could come back here to see him, and somehow, after everything he's been through, he'd still be Sirius. I was afraid he'd be different, I just didn't realize by how much. He's not Sirius anymore.

Something breaks loose in that moment, something that had held me back from collapsing after my cousin became a traitor. My throat is dry, my eyes are stinging, I have an awful headache. And then there are tears – oh damn, there are tears everywhere. I choose the only option I have to save face and throw my arms around him so I can hide my silly waterworks. I haven't cried since I was nineteen. I bet Sirius didn't even know I _could_ cry. Well he certainly does now.

He is a little shocked, since Blacks _do not hug_. It is like an unspoken rule, but then again we are blood traitors, and he is too sad and broken to really care about formality for long. And of course, this just makes me cry _harder_, so now I am sobbing and sniffling like a little girl, not the mother of a fully grown woman. I want to say something, to apologize about being an idiot and getting his shoulder all wet, but I can't. I just go right on crying.

Finally I quiet down a bit and he guides me into his room. I sit on his bed and hiccup, still crying, but silently now. The familiar setting of his dark and dismal room seem so strange now. Time has gotten to it too I guess.

Sirius whispers something from where he is standing by the door. I cannot hear him and so he asks again. "You're real, aren't you?"

I want to say, "Of course I am, you idiot. What do you think?" but his face seems too serious to be joking. Besides, I am still hiccuping too much.

"I dreamed about you sometimes, not in Azkaban, but after. There wasn't too much to dream about in Azkaban. There was Peter and there was James and Lily, but they weren't dreams, they were – well, they weren't dreams. I started dreaming about you after. They weren't so much dreams either, more like visions only in reverse. I was seeing the past, you know? Well I guess you don't know, really. It was like…Sometimes I'd be running through a forest and suddenly out of nowhere I'd see my friends right next to me like back in Hogwarts, and then I'd look away for a moment and they'd be gone. It got worse since I came here. I hear the front door ring and I think it's _you_ and _them_ come walking in just in time for tea so I'd go into the kitchen like I always did but you'd never come. Eventually I'd realize it was just Molly or Moody or someone and you weren't coming; in fact you'd never come at all. And then I'd hear a knocking at my door and you'd be standing there just like you were now only I'd blink and then you'd vanish. I can't tell sometimes. Maybe it's Azkaban that did it. Maybe it's this crazy house. I-I just don't know." He pauses for a moment.

"I should have gotten out." He sighs "I _did_ get out. But it wasn't like you. Your name's not on the damn wall. You aren't stuck back in the hell you tried to escape. You got out."

"S-Sirius." I have only a few good hiccups left. "I d-didn't get out. No one really gets out. They can b-blast our name off the tree, but we're still tied to them in the end." I wipe my face. I am done crying.

"Do you see them?" he asks, and I am confused for a moment. Then I understand. "The visions," he says quietly.

I think about how I avoid Diagon Alley near the end of August with all of those school children and busy parents, and how I live in Muggle England far from any Wizards, and how Sirius' picture in the Prophet frightened me.

"No" I say. _I'm too good at hiding_, I think.

It is quiet for a moment. Then, suddenly, "_He _never leaves me alone." I don't follow his mental pattern on this one. "No matter where I hide, he never leaves me alone!" I am going to ask 'who?' but he goes on. "Sometimes he comes alone and it's like the last time I saw him – well not the very last time, I guess, more like the second-last time – but he's there and it seems so real. I just want to talk and talk so it will last forever; but I have to tell him, I have to warn him, make him see what I have done – oh _God_, what I've done! – and I go to take him by the shoulders and just hold him to see if he's real, but he's not and he just fades away. And then…And then sometimes he's with her and I can't remember so well, because they're screaming at me and cursing me, but I just can't remember because it seems so real but they didn't know, so it couldn't be. They didn't know 'cause they were already – they were – "

"Who, Sirius?"

"James."

I used to be jealous of James Potter. I used to hate him for how he "stole" my cousin. At the holidays, at Sirius could talk about was James. When Sirius ran away from home, he went to James. For all the years of trust and compassion I had given him, he went to James first. I knew him for almost his entire life, but James always seemed to come first. It hurt me at the time.

Now though…Now it's hard to be jealous of a dead man. I can't hate him, not when I pity him so much. And poor Sirius…

They were like brothers everyone said. Not having had any siblings I actually _liked_, this metaphor held very little meaning to me. But I _do _know from my own observances that they were close. James meant a lot to Sirius. Anyone could see that.

"Why didn't they give you a trial?" I found myself wondering aloud. I didn't mean to bring that up.

He laughs a little, but there is no humor in it. "Barty Crouch."

"That's not good enough." I didn't mean to mention it, certainly, but I don't like how complacent he is behaving. The Sirius I remember got angry; he didn't just let things happen and accept that them for the way things are. "Everyone knew you two were close; you were best friends! You could not _shut up_ about him and how _great_ he was. Didn't anybody wonder?"

"Andromeda, I'm a _Black_. That right there is a death sentence. You may not realize it since you married Ted, but when people – especially _scared_ people – hear the name Black, they tend to jump to conclusions."

"Well what about Dumbledore then?" I think I might be close to yelling now. I can't really hear what I'm saying and I certainly seem unable to control what comes out of my mouth, volume included. "Where was he back then?"

"Andromeda, just drop it." He looks so sad.

"Why are you giving up so easily? You're just turning your back on your problems instead of fighting them. That's not the Sirius I knew."

"Well times change and so do people. I had _fourteen years_ to fight it out with myself, and you know what I realized? It didn't do a _damn_ bit of good. Sometimes you just give up because it's the only option."

He turns stiffly and faces the door. We don't speak for a moment.

"Do you know what I think?" I say softly. "I don't think you're crazy. I don't think you're unhinged. I don't even think your years in Azkaban are finally catching up with you. I think you're _dead_, Sirius. You lock yourself up in this room seeing dead people and dwelling on the past. Do you like it down in this hole you've dug for yourself? You sure don't seem to want to come out. It's six feet down and you can stay there forever if you want to, it's only a matter of time before the rest of you is dead as well. But if you want – perhaps for something _new_ to do with your life – you could climb out of there and look around you. Wake up, Sirius. There's still people who care about you – real, _living_ people."

He spins around. "You know what _your_ problem is, Andromeda? You're such a bloody hypocrite! You spout all this nonsense about 'facing the past' and coming to terms with our _Black blood_ so to speak, but what have you done to practice what you preach? Not a _damn_ thing. Your own daughter has no idea about anything; she – "

"Yes, she does."

"No, she _doesn't_. I was just talking with her – "

"I told her yesterday."

"Oh, well, _congratulations_," he sneers. "What about Ted? He knew just as much as she did when I saw him last. I don't suppose your new 'open and free' policy extends to him as well, huh? I don't suppose you ever told _him_ anything?"

I don't like how this conversation is going. This was not supposed to be about me.

"No, not _Andromeda_. She can go on hiding in her own little hole while everyone else has to drag themselves out and face the world. It's ok, just as long as she's safe and snug in her secure foxhole.

"Before you go giving me your _expert_ advice, I recommend that you take a good long look at your own self, Ms. Black."

His last word are still ringing in the silent room. He looks like he still has more that he wants to shout about just to get off his chest, but he turns away instead.

It's quite for a long while. I hear movement downstairs and someone shuffling boxes on the stairs. I stare at my feet.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"I am, too," he says with a sigh. Another long pause. "You were right though."

"You were, too."

Silence.

"Stay for tea?"

"Certainly."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

You know the drill, tell me what you think, what's wrong, etc.

I misplaced my OotP so I might have erred in a few spots. Feel free to tell me how much my grievious mistakes disturbed you, yadda yadda yadda.

And don't think that this is the end...There's always more to Andromeda's life.


	7. The Letter

Well, here it is. After like four months I finally got around to writing something. That's impressive considering my track record for the past good while. Writers block like you wouldn't believe. Illustrator's block too if that exists…

But anyway, the next chapter is here and that's all that matters for now. I swear that I'm not abandoning this in anyway. So far it's been the most productive thing I've ever done and I really have so many ideas lined up to come. Chronology is the only problem…time is funny like that.

(Thanks to Trinity Day who, aside from reviewing every chapter, also never ceases to point out my mistakes. I appreciate it! Especially my error this time around concerning Wizarding/Muggle money!)

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

I pause for a moment and wipe flour out of my eyes before grabbing another chunk of dough out of the bowl.

It is September again, thankfully. If there is one thing I can always count on through the turning of the years, it is September. When I was nine, it meant Bella was at school. When I was fifteen it meant I could see Ted again. By the time Nymphadora turned eleven it meant four months I didn't have to chase my morning coffee with pain-killers for relief from an eternal headache. I am continually happy that Ted and I agreed on only _one_ child. She is more than enough of a handful.

I grab a clean spoon and begin to dish out little scoops of dough onto baking sheets. Yes - _baking_. Making dinner may still be a bit beyond me, but I am quite capable when it comes to sweets. Dessert is not something to joke about.

I place the baking sheet in the oven and set the timer. That way I will only lightly _singe_ the cookies, rather than my usual black hunks of inedible carbon. I stick my head out the window, taking a deep breath of the late afternoon air. The sun is still high in the sky, but there is a feeling of evening approaching. It's almost a tangible thing – time. I can feel it blowing past me with the breeze. Soon Ted will be home from work and the children playing in the street will wander towards their houses for dinner. It will get very quiet before long. I enjoy the noise while I can.

I remember when Nymphadora was about eight years old - she was convinced that she would play football for England. There was a team at school she joined, but girls apparently weren't given equal field time. So she quit the formal league and decided street ball was more her style. From the hour of three-thirty to six o' clock she could always be found chasing boys up and down the road outside our house. By the time she was ten, most boys had given up hope of ever besting her in a game of football, so she had taken up quidditch at a local youth club for something new to try. Of course, practice was from five to seven, precisely when I wanted to be home waiting for Ted to come in or helping Nymphadora with her homework - not that she ever _asked_ me for help – but I selflessly sacrificed family-time for quidditch-time.

A year later and she wasn't even home for me to fantasize about being a part of my daily routine. I miss those days, more than I can tell her. _Sure_ she was a pain and _sure_ she nearly destroyed the house on numerous occasions, but there was still something so comforting about looking out the kitchen window and seeing her, flushed and excited, chanting battle cries at the top of her lungs to the neighborhood boys. It was home. _Family_.

There's a subject I am _not_ an expert on. It's amazing that my little experiment in familial life turned out as well as it has. I really am running on empty when in comes to positive experience. But, I guess, experience doesn't have to be positive to be informative.

I pull out a sheet of parchment and grab a quill from the kitchen table.

_Dearest cousin,_ I write. I have not been back to the house for some time now, but at least I have been trying to keep up a correspondence.

_Things here are about the same since I last wrote. My darling daughter has accidentally transfigured our upstairs bathroom into a bottomless pit and we are uncertain as to how she managed it. We brought a specialist in to take a look. He spent an hour banging on all the pipes in the house and turned my favourite set of hand towels into canaries before he formulated a professional opinion which translated to "I don't know" and charged us seventy galleons for the effort. Ted thinks we should leave it as is. I believe he just wants to use it as a dumping ground for all his relatives who think the phrase "Stay for the night while you're in town on business" really means "Please, stay forever; we would be happy to be your parasitic hosts." Secretly I agree. The last time his uncle Nigel stayed the night it took three weeks and some rather blatant hints to get him to leave. And Ted's sister Bess with her four children…_

_ I heard it's rather empty around the house now, it being September and all. Believe me, I know the feeling. I was just remembering when Nymphadora was at Hogwarts and it was just Ted and me. They were the best years of her life, she told me once. I just laughed at her and told her to get back to me when she was ten years older._

I stop for a moment and consider what I just wrote. Ten years from then would be still another five years from now. Five years, when you think about how much has happened in the past three, is such a long, long way away. I mean, when she turned eighteen I thought"It's amazing. She has her whole life ahead of her, just waiting to be lived. There are a million things she has yet to do." Then she told us she wanted to be an Auror, and I said"Ok, so it's not the life I wanted her to have, but it's a good thing she's doing. It's good work. And someone's got to do it. It could always be worse."

And then the rumors started. About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And a small part of me couldn't shake the thought that it was real, that maybe somewhere out there was a man –can he even be called a man anymore? – a man who wants to hurt my daughter simply because she is doing her job. And it occurred to me, there may not _be_ another ten years. Hogwarts may very well be the best damn years she _is_ ever going to get.

There is a great big inkblot on Sirius' letter. Oh well, he'll just have to deal with it. It's not like he can be selective. I think I am the only one he gets letters from.

_Tomorrow afternoon, the neighborhood women's club will be gathering in my house eating cookies and cake till they explode. Ted thought it was brilliantly funny a few years back to mention to Mrs. Carlisle next door that I was simply dying to join their little Suzy-Homemaker Cult. For perhaps five years I have escaped notice, lingering in the background and paying dues every now and then, but someone has brought up the issue – and I have some strong suspicions about Patty Dornkirke from Lolita Circle, she's been giving me the Evil Eye lately – and now it's come to the Committee's attention that I have yet to host a single meeting in my own wonderful home._

I smell the cookies in the oven baking. There are another three dozen on cooling racks around the kitchen, strewn over counter tops everywhere. I really wanted to put a dash of arsenic into the cookies but I was afraid Ted or Nymphadora might sneak one behind my back. I think I might have some of the ingredients for Draught of Living Death in the potions closet though…

Oh damn. Those pesky morals. And not to mentions Ministry laws.

I get up to check on the cookies. Golden brown, a nice healthy colour. Maybe if I let them char the Committee will decide against coming to my house in the future…Ah, but residual Ravenclaw pride won't let me burn them purposefully. I guess I'll just have to get through it the hard way. I wonder if Nymphadora will be dropping in while the women are here – but no. Anything she does _unintentionally_ is probably just as likely to get me in trouble with the ministry as any potion would.

Though it might get them to never come back. Ever. Nymphadora can be rather terrifying when she is in a fit of clumsiness.

I grab an oven mitt and wrestle with the oven door. The damn thing is sticking again. I thought I told Ted to stop by Diagon Alley on his way back from work yesterday and get a new bottle of Stickel's Unsticking Solution. I swear it's the only thing that works on the bloody contraption. For a Muggle machine, it is rather persistent.

I'll have to pick it up myself then. Ted, why can't you remember when I tell you something?

I pull the baking rack out of the oven and study the cookies in detail. Yep. Definitely done. The tops are the perfect golden brown – just beautiful! – but the undersides…

I guess I didn't use a non-stick sheet. I thought I had gotten rid of all my old, ratty, _bottom-of-of-the-cookie-burning_ sheets. Oh well. Three out of four dozen isn't too bad. I guess I'll just have to eat these myself. Maybe Sirius would like some too! I could make up a little travel bag and send it over by owl with the letter…

I nibble absentmindedly on a cookie while I think, and slowly it occurs to me that sugar and salt are two very similar-looking ingredients. So similar-looking, in fact, that it is a common mistake to switch the two when cooking or baking. It is a mistake I _quite_ often make. Just as I did today. Oh my.

Maybe Sirius _wouldn't_ like some after all. _I_ don't even want this rubbish. I spit out the cookie and glare at the cooling batch of its brethren. Foiled again. And I was so sure that baking was one of my culinary strong points…

Well there's nothing for it now but to toss the whole batch and hope the Betty Crocker Brigaders aren't all guilty of gluttony and there's enough to go around.

Or…

Potions may not be legal, but cooking mistake sure are. Let's see what Patty Dornkirke has to say when she's spitting up foul bits of cookie! I'll never have to host another meeting for the rest of my life!

Oh…the curse of Ravenclaw. I have to fix it. Otherwise it isn't perfect. And never let it be said of Ravenclaws that we do anything less than perfect. I go to the bookshelf in the living room and pull a dusty tome from between _Magical Mothers: Expecting a Wizarding Child_ and _Wizarding Weddings of the Twentieth Century_. Hmm…I suppose I should clear some of this stuff out of here before tomorrow afternoon. It might avoid some uncomfortable questions.

_"Wizarding, Mrs. Tonks? You're not into any of this occult nonsense, I hope…I hardly think this is a matter a woman of your age should be spending her time fussing about with! Nancy's oldest is messing about in that rubbish; wearing dark clothes, piercings all over his face, hair the color of – well nothing I've ever seen in all my years"_

_ "Oh no, Mrs. Hardstrom, just a practical joke my Ted likes to play on guests, he means nothing by it I swear. Oh, look! It's time for cake"_

But…it might scare off the guests…

Or it could get me in trouble with the Ministry so never mind.

The book I have pulled off the shelf is a heavy magical cooking book I got as a wedding gift from an old school friend – oh, what was her name…Morrine…Mora…Morgan! Morgan Fae. Whatever happened to her; it's been fifteen years or so since I last saw her. She was engaged to a nice young wizard when I last saw her. So long ago now…

Oh well. Morgan's passed now from my life, but her cook book still remains. And if I remember correctly, there should be a portion of the text in the back devoted to hopeless chefs like me who need quick fixes for big messes.

Ah there it is. First on the page. Apparently it's a common problem. _Sales Saccharum_. I have a suspicion the book has moved it to the top because I make this mistake so often. I don't like this book. It knows too much.

I fix the salt sugar confusion with a simple wave of my wand and I place the book back on the shelf. Until next time, book. And believe me; there will _always_ be a next time.

I pick up Sirius' letter from where I left it on the kitchen table and read over the last few lines.

_"Perhaps I should shove them all in the upstairs bathroom. I think Ted had the right idea after all…"_

I pick up my quill and start up from where I left off.

_I am sending along a sample of what I am serving. Before you run and duck for cover, I beg you to remember that many years have passed since you last tried some of my cooking and the chance that I accidentally slipped Wormswart into the batter again is highly unlikely. I have only had to take Ted to St. Mungo's twice because of my food in the many long years of our marriage and I would appreciate if you could just let my past mistakes rest. I swear these cookies are perfectly alright so go ahead and share them with everyone else if you so desire. And please don't listen to what Nymphadora tells you; keep in mind she is my daughter and it is her job to ridicule me. She holds a rather biased opinion regarding my cooking._

_I look forward to your culinary criticism. Please don't be to harsh on me; I do try very hard._

_And, cousin, do try to keep in touch, even if it's nothing more than a scrap of paper with your illegible scribblings all over it. I will still cherish it._

_Love forever,_

_Andromeda_

I put the quill down and grab a piece of ribbon from a bowl on the counter. I tie the letter shut and I put a few cookies in a small bag and I place them together next to the front door where we keep all out-going post. I have to wait for Nymphadora to come home so I can wait for her to go _out_ again and bring it to Sirius. It's faster and most likely safer than regular post. In the meantime, I guess I'll head over to Diagon Alley and pick up a few items, including the ones Ted forgot to get for me.

I could floo I suppose, but it is such a beautiful afternoon that I think I might drive. London isn't that far. I might roll the window down and soak up the summer sun. I'd like to feel the breeze, heavy with all the years I have lived, rush past. There are times that it can be comforting to think that this is it: life. It comes and goes and like the free-flowing breeze you can't control it. No one can. When it seems that your entire life is out of your hands, there is familiarity in knowing that all of humanity shares at least something with you.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Thanks everybody who reviewed in the past. You guys kept be going through the college application process (which was a torture unlike any other I have ever known…but ultimately worth it)

And you know what I want: tell me what was good, bad, erroneous…I like it when people talk to me, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I need some sleep, man…


End file.
